Copy Cap Murder (14 page)

Recognition hit me like a disappointing slap across the face. I glanced at Viv and saw her shoulders slump, although I wasn't sure if it was in relief or disappointment.

“Hello, Inspector Franks,” I said. “Shopping for a new hat?”

His bushy mustache curved up when he smiled. He was Inspector Simms's partner, the senior investigator of their duo, and I assumed that he had just gotten back from his trip to York.

“When Vivian starts making ten-gallon cowboy hats, I'll be the first in line,” he said. He poked a finger at a stylish emerald green cap with a long pointed feather that coiled around it as if it was a snake and he was trying to determine if it would bite.

“I think the Stetson Company has it covered,” Viv said. “But I'm flattered that you think me capable.”

Inspector Franks nodded. He smoothed his mustache with his thumb and forefinger while he contemplated us. I had no doubt that Simms had caught him up to date about the murder at the Carsons' party. I wondered if the inspector was looking for Harrison, but then why was he here and not at the offices of Carson and Evers?

“Simms told me it was quite a bonfire night,” he said. He examined the blue hat perched next to the green one. Then he glanced at me with a look that was razor sharp. “Especially for you, Scarlett.”

“Would you care for some tea?” I asked. I wasn't intentionally trying to change the subject or stall, but I did want to take a moment to get my head together.

“I thought you'd never ask,” he said.

“Please, come and sit,” Viv said. She gestured to one of the sitting areas. “I'll just go and start the tea.”

Inspector Franks and I sat in two of the plush blue chairs that Mim had scattered in little groupings all around the shop. There was a small glass table between us with copies of the latest fashion magazines.

Viv liked to keep up to date on what was trending, and yes, she also liked to shred some of the latest haute couture designs. She felt that form and function had to meet in an article of clothing for it to be a substantial design; otherwise she felt it was reduced to being silly or dowdy, both of which were completely unacceptable to her.

Once she left, I turned to Inspector Franks. He was a good detective. We had met over a few unfortunate situations before, and I had learned that he was a thorough investigator, a nice
man, and he had a rich baritone that he liked to exercise by singing country music at a local pub. In short, I trusted him.

“Inspector Simms told us you were vacationing up in York,” I said. “Was it a nice visit?”

“Quite pleasant,” he said. Then he glanced down at the table. “It's really more for my wife. Our daughter, well, things aren't as we'd like between us so every year around bonfire night, we go away to make it a bit easier.”

“I understand,” I said. “My mother is always telling me that she thought the growing pains would be over when I was an adult, but I don't suppose it ever really ends.”

“No, I expect not,” he said. He glanced back up and I noted he appeared to be making an effort to look cheerful, which made me feel even more empathy.

“Tell me what happened that night,” he said.

I knew he meant the party, and I was happy to talk about anything that might distract him. I described the evening in detail, highlighting the fact that Harrison had not been out of my sight when he went to retrieve our wine the second time. Franks's face remained impassive through the entire interview.

Viv returned with a tray of tea and cookies and Franks gave her a grateful smile. She took the seat next to mine and poured the tea while I wound down in my story. I did not tell Franks that we had tailed Tuesday or popped in on Ava. I didn't want to throw too much at him at once, and I really didn't want to get in trouble.

“How is your sense of time?” Franks asked me.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Do you wear a watch? Do you consult your cell phone frequently?”

I frowned. “No, but what does that have to do—”

“Are you usually late or on time?” he asked. He took a sip of his tea and watched me over the rim of the cup.

“I'd say I'm mostly on time, but I occasionally run a few minutes late,” I said.

“Why?” he asked.

“Probably, because I get distracted . . .” The words fell out of my mouth before I had the brains to snap my jaw shut. Damn it. I had just admitted that I get distracted. Now he would think I really didn't know how long Harrison had been gone and that I hadn't really been watching him the whole time.

Yes, I know I looked at the fire for a few seconds while Harrison was gone, but I was absolutely certain it hadn't been long enough for him to strangle Win, hide his body, and get back to my side, but now I sounded unsure. The urge to smack my own forehead was strong, but I resisted.

“Exactly,” he said. “Funny thing time.”

I was about to protest that there was nothing funny about it when he turned his attention away from me.

“Vivian, can you tell me what you remember about the night?” he asked.

Vivian nodded. Everyone who had been at the party had been questioned, so her information had already been taken, but I supposed if they had no concrete leads, Franks was forced to go over every testimony until something stuck out.

I held my cup of tea in my hands but I wasn't thirsty. I was using it as more of a hand warmer against the draft than anything else.

“How much time did you spend with Elise Stanford?” Franks asked.

If Viv was surprised she didn't show it, at least not as much as I probably did. Elise Stanford was a noted television personality—what could Franks's interest in her be?

“She took us to meet with her producer, Sam Kerry,” Viv said. “They are planning to do a segment for the morning show on winter hats. She was particularly interested in the yellow cap I was wearing.”

“Do you know her personally?” Franks asked. He appeared relaxed, but I noticed that his eyes never left Viv's face as if he didn't want to miss a bit of her answer.

“We've met at various functions,” she said. “But we don't have any shared history.”

“Did you know she was dating Winthrop Dashavoy?” Franks asked.

Viv and I both gasped.

“I'll take that as a no,” he said.

He took a cinnamon chocolate cookie off of the plate and bit it in half. I could see crumbs and sugar crystals clinging to his mustache and I wondered if he combed it out every night or if he found stray bits of food in it every now and then sort of like a backup snack.

“They seem an unlikely couple,” Viv said.

“How so?” he asked.

Viv looked at me as if she wasn't sure how to phrase what she was thinking. I wondered why she was looking at me and then I remembered that I am the schmoozer of our duo so she was probably looking to me to find the right words.

“He was a grabby-handed arrogant jerk,” I said. “While she seems quite nice.”

“Really, Scarlett,” Viv clucked. “I could have done better than that.”

I shrugged. Winthrop Dashavoy was a horrible person and if Elise Stanford was involved with him then I had to rethink my opinion of her as well.

“What could she possibly see in him?” Viv asked.

“Her morning show is suffering in the ratings,” Franks said. “Dashavoy comes from old money and would have been a wealthy bird with which to feather her nest.”

“She didn't seem that calculating to me,” Viv said. “She's planning to bring a film crew by here in a few days. I don't know how I'm going to look her in the face, knowing she was tied up with him.”

“You're a pro,” I said. “Think about the publicity for the shop and you'll be fine.”

“What day and time?” Franks asked.

“The day after tomorrow in the early afternoon,” Viv said. “It's to be a pretaped session for the morning show the next day.”

Franks pulled out his phone and made a note. I had a feeling he was planning to be in attendance for the taping.

“Were they officially engaged?” I asked. Memories of my tussle with Winthrop made me wonder if he'd meant Elise Stanford when he said he “wouldn't let her get away with it.” I felt bad about offering her up to the police using Win's hateful words, but if it saved Harrison I was more than okay with throwing her under the bus. Turns out I have a dark side, who knew?

“Not officially,” Franks said. “But it was clear she thought it was going that way.”

“I didn't see her when his body was found,” I said.

Franks looked at me and I saw one of his eyebrows rise just the tiniest bit. “That's an excellent observation. She had, in fact, already left the party when his body was discovered.”

“Alone?” Viv and I asked together.

“Why do you ask?” Franks's voice was deceptively mild.

I exchanged a glance with Viv and knew she was thinking the same thing I was. She gave me a small nod. I took a deep breath. I did not want to sound as bitter as I had before; rather I wanted to sound as if I were operating from a place of cool calm reasoning, instead of ecstatic that there might be a much more viable suspect than Harrison.

“I'm sure it has already occurred to you that if Elise left the party alone with no witnesses then it stands to reason that she left after having heard about Harrison's scuffle with Dashavoy.”

“Possibly,” Franks said.

“And if she discovered why they had fought, she might have been furious with Win for embarrassing her. It's possible she could have had a confrontation with him and killed him. In a panic, she might have hidden the body in the effigy's place, thinking it would be burned before anyone realized what she had done.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you would really like to hear that Ms. Stanford has no alibi?” Franks asked.

I blinked. Did I sound too eager? Did that look bad? Was he thinking I was trying to hide something and
clinging to the hope that Elise Stanford took the fall for Win's death?

“Inspector Franks, Harrison is our friend as well as our business manager,” Viv said. “Of course, we don't want to think the worst of Ms. Stanford, but since we are quite positive that it isn't Harrison, well, it has to be someone.”

I frowned. Viv, my flighty artist introvert cousin, sounded so reasonable that I wondered if we'd suffered a sudden personality swap. I had no words and she sounded as smooth as whipped butter. Franks even grinned at her.

“It does have to be someone,” he said. “But it isn't necessarily Ms. Stanford. As it happens, her producer, Sam Kerry, was by her side at the party and left with her. They say it was before the ruckus between Dashavoy and Wentworth.”

“Can they prove it?” I asked. Eagerness be damned; I wanted a new suspect.

“Not as yet,” he said. “We are trying to pin down the actual time.”

“Excellent,” I said. Both Viv and Franks looked at me. I gave them a sour look. “I just mean that she makes a fine suspect—much better than Harrison at any rate.”

Franks leaned forward and put his empty cup on the tray. “The investigation is ongoing. We'll find out who did this.”

“I have no doubt you will,” I said. See? My people-pleasing skills were kicking back into high gear. I bit my lip and then figured this was as good a time as any to mention what we had learned about Win. “We did hear a rumor.”

I glanced at Viv to see what she thought of telling Franks what Nick had told us. She nodded.

“Someone said that Dashavoy was known in some circles for dealing in prescription drugs.”

“And someone would be who?” he asked.

“I can't recall.” Viv tossed her long, blond curls and tipped her head to the side.

This is Viv's tell. She always does the head toss thing when she's fibbing. I know because she's used it on me, and I've seen her use it on men to blind them from the fact that she is fibbing. There must be something about the light catching in her pale curls that distracts them from pursuing the truth. I swear, it works every time.